


Defined Objects

by futureboy (PokeRowan)



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Battle Buddies AU, Battle Buddies Verse, Consent, Frottage, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Sex Pollen, battle buddies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-11-17 09:54:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11273094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PokeRowan/pseuds/futureboy
Summary: A sample retrieval mission goes awry. Battle Buddies AU, mostly PWP.





	Defined Objects

**Author's Note:**

> [RPF disclaimer: Written according to guidelines set by RT employees (to the best of my knowledge). This is a fictional series of events using characters inspired by real people.]

“How many bottles do we need to take?”

“As many as you can,” says their handler into the earpieces, “we need at least four of them, but the more, the better.”

“We should limit it, though,” Ryan murmurs. “We don’t wanna jingle on our way out of here.”

Jeremy nods. He hates labs. They always smell unnaturally clean, like his mean and wealthy aunt’s house when he was a kid. He examines the purple liquid, stashes three of the tiny bottles in his belt, and reloads his handgun.

It’s always pleasant, though, when he doesn’t have to use it. There aren’t often heavy military presences at scientific facilities, in Jeremy’s experience, and a sample retrieval mission is usually more stealth-based. It’s good to clam up sometimes whilst you bust outta the joint.

“Dooley to HQ – samples retrieved. Have you got directions to the safehouse sent on yet?”

His earpiece crackles. “They should be arriving now. The alarms are going crazy, so we recommend radio silence from here on out.”

“You got it,” he grins, and the line is audibly dropped.

It’s not too far to the safehouse on the shitty little helicopter they stashed outside, but it’s still awful using those things. The Agency holds them together with duct tape and sheer force of will, and the Battle Buddies fuel several of them with hope on multiple occasions.

The safehouse turns out to be a deserted shack, and after a quick sweep, it becomes apparent that they’re supposed to be staying overnight there. God _damn._ Jeremy wanted to go home and have a shower, not sit in this dingy three-room horror cabin and take sleep shifts with Ryan. Who seems to be on the same page, if his thousand-yard stare is anything to go by.

“They couldn’t even make up the beds? We’re _guests_. That’s so rude.”

“I’m surprised they fit two doubles in here in the first place. Count yourself lucky, pal, usually we have one bed or two shitty singles.”

“Huh,” Ryan says. He removes his jacket, and grabs the sheets. “Keep watch while I make the beds?”

Jeremy draws the curtains, and his gun, and moves to stand watch outside the bedroom. “I want hospital corners, Haywood.”

There’s something lovely in the way Ryan’s high-pitched laugh mingles with the ruffle of thick material. Jeremy can afford a smile, from the solitude of the rest of the shack. He faces away from the beds, and thinks that it’s the kind of moment he’d protect with his life. There’s a gun in his hand. A little bit of fondness, glinting in his eye. No big deal.

“All done, Lil J.”

“Oh, thank god,” he says, and breezes towards the closest one. Prying his boots off releases all the aching in his ankles at once. “I’ve been waiting all damn day to do this. We _deserve_ this.”

“We sure as hell do.”

“Did we get a briefcase here? To transport those biologicals properly?”

“Oh,” says Ryan, “yeah, it was over by the sheets. I wonder how many spaces it has.”

“Let’s find out,” says Jeremy, and fully intends to get right to work in order to minimise any potential risks – except, when he stands up, a bottle slips from his belt.

Purple liquid, and glass, in smithereens, scatters clear across the floor.

“Oh, _dick_ , that’s not good.”

“Haywood to HQ,” Ryan says in a bored voice, “Mission Control, we have a contamination situation.”

“What’s in this shit? Is it poisonous?”

“I think they said it was fumes, mostly,” he says, and taps at his earpiece. “Bad to get on your skin, too… But I don’t remember them telling us there was any risk of dying horribly. Mission Control?”

Jeremy jabs at his earpiece, too, but he doesn’t hear the crackle of the line to HQ. “Are we on enforced radio silence?” he asks suspiciously.

“Oh, shit. We might be.”

“Well, what do we do?!”

Ryan narrows his eyes. “You didn’t get any on you, didja?”

He shakes his head: “nah, and it was half full anyways.”

“Well… It doesn’t look like it’s eaten through the carpet,” Ryan assesses. “And the fumes… smell kinda nice, actually. Like a car air freshener.”

“Cherry?”

“Yeah, that might be it.”

“Cherry and no poison. I’ll take it,” Jeremy decides. He removes his utility belt and body armour entirely. Wow, it’s _waaaay_ hotter now that he’s stood still. “Can you pack those bottles? I don’t trust me.”

Ryan takes the belt wordlessly, and starts placing the bottles into the protective mesh. Jeremy spots a muscle in his jaw jump. (He hopes he hasn’t annoyed him.)

Perching on the edge of Ryan’s bed, he watches the man working with care: “kinda shitty of HQ to abandon us like that. They _recommended_ radio silence,” he says. “They didn’t say, we’re dropping everything for a few hours. How long d’ya think it’ll be?”

“No idea. Don’t take your socks off on my bed, _ew_ , Jeremy.”

“It’s too hot, though! And we’re in the middle of nowhere, who the hell’s gonna catch us out now?”

Ryan considers it. “That… Okay, yeah. Fine,” he concedes, and peels off his own socks as well.

Summer’s long over. So why the hell is it still so warm? Ugh, it’s starting to get super uncomfortable. Jeremy peels off his second layer and basks in just his vest; it’s better, but it’s still not enough, and he can hardly strip down with Ryan in the room.

“Does this place have a shower?”

Packing the last bottle safely into the case, Ryan stares at the wall: “toilet and sink. So... Nope.”

“That’s so disgusting.”

“We got two beds at the cost of a shower,” he says, shaking his head disbelievingly, “what else did you expect?”

“Something to wash in,” Jeremy mutters, and oh, fuck, he’s got a bigger problem on his hands.

No, _no_ , not in his hands, don’t _think_ like that, Dooley. His lower body is responding to, or possibly setting off, swirling thoughts about showers and shower sex and _Ryan_ having a shower and possibly Jeremy and Ryan having sex in a shower together.

There’s a time and a place to get turned on like this.

Here is not the time. Nor the place. _Damn it_ , he’s supposed to be alert on the off chance they get tracked down! And here he is, sat on his partner’s bed with a fucking semi. Jesus Christ.

Ryan makes things a million, bazillion times worse by mirroring him, stripping down to his vest and plucking at the neckline. Jeremy catches a glimpse of chest hair from where he’s sat up on the bed.

He crosses his legs.

“It’s… really warm,” sweats Ryan.

“Yup,” says Jeremy shortly, and tries his best not to make eye contact. His brain is being flooded with images he reserves for post-mission sessions, rather than _during a fucking mission, come on, man, cut it out_ \--

And then he notices that Ryan’s shifting uncomfortably, too. He gets to his feet unsteadily – paces by the closed curtains a couple of times – and tries to busy himself with folding his uniform, except when that’s done, his hands are left idling once more.

He keeps clenching his jaw. Hard enough, in fact, that he’s gonna crack some teeth if he’s not careful.

And if he’s feeling anything like Jeremy does, it’s so that he can keep a level head.

“All okay?” Jeremy squeaks, and wipes too many beads of sweat from his hairline.

Ryan exhales measuredly. He takes a seat next to Jeremy, and the slight dip of the bed under his weight reminds Jeremy of those ‘bowling ball on a rubber sheet’ depictions, where gravity is obvious and the rest of the universe is just squares and lines.

“I don’t think HQ are gonna get back in contact with us.”

“Nope. Me neither.”

“Wish they would.”

“You think it’s the sample? Turning up the heat like this?”

“Something’s… Not right,” says Ryan, in a _spectacularly_ strained voice. He crosses his legs. Uncrosses them. Links his ankles. Hell, he rubs the back of his neck and wipes his hands on his combat pants, and even against the black they leave damp marks.

He’s so relieved Ryan’s admitted it. _Finally_.

“I’ll say,” Jeremy chokes out, and takes a gamble, “I’ve got the worst hard-on of my _life_ here.”

Worst?

Best?

God, he’s so turned on it’s almost painful, and it feels so fucking _good_ , so good that he’s not really sure how he hasn’t jizzed in his pants already.

Ryan fidgets, and plants his feet firmly on the ground. When he says, “it’s-- it’s a problem, yeah,” Jeremy knows _instantly_ that they’re fucked - trying to get Ryan to admit to _anything_ of a sensitive nature, even on a normal day, is like trying to squeeze blood out of a turnip.

“I mean,” he says, scratching his itchy, prickling arms, “we can, uh. We could do something about that.”

Taking out his earpiece, Ryan leans forwards, and says in a low voice: “… _together_?!”

“Argh, _Jesus_ , Ryan,” Jeremy says. He’s stumbling. “I was thinking more along the lines of me in the restroom, you stay here, and we can--”

“Yeah, sure--”

And he pauses, because that’s not something that sounds like an agreement.

That sounds like a compromise.

“Or,” he starts, and shuts his mouth, before he starts confessing every HR-restricted fantasy he’s ever had about his partner.

Ryan’s head snaps up. A trickle of sweat runs down his forehead and settles in one of his eyebrows.

“…Or?”

“ _Or_ , we could help each other out. Give each other a hand. Literally. Ah, that was too forward, sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.” He’s rambling now, loudly, and without an end in sight: “although I don’t wanna, like… I mean, I _do_ wanna, but not if you don’t wanna do it too, that’s not fair--”

Ryan’s hands flex against his knees, like he’s trying to hold himself back.

(Which is ridiculous, of course. Jeremy’s seen him without any shred of dignity left over on several occasions.)

“Oh, god. I wanna,” Ryan says, closing his eyes, “that sounds like _such_ a good idea right now--”

And Jeremy shuts up. The longer they’ve been fighting the reaction, the more it’s tightened its grip on them. His hands are shaking. He tries to touch Ryan’s face, maybe attempt to kiss him and start it off slow, but his whole body is shivering violently.

 _Let’s go easy here_ , says his mind in a long string of words, _let’s go easy and let’s tread carefully, let’s not scare him, this is new territory for you both, and_

and Jeremy’s fingers brush the skin under Ryan’s cheekbones.

There’s a sharpening in everything Ryan-related. The world gets clearer - the two of them, becoming the only defined objects in their exhaustingly blurry lives – and he kinda expects Ryan to lean into his touch, or _something_ , but holy _shit_ there’s way too much space between their bodies. Something electric is present. It’s Ryan who snaps first, pushing him down onto the bed and slipping soaked hands under his vest. Jeremy pulls the damn thing over his head and throws it away. He can’t even bring himself to feel self-conscious right now.

“Ry,” he says, except no sound comes out, and then Ryan’s slotting their mouths together like he was always supposed to be there.

It’s still too hot, but damn if the physical proximity hasn’t calmed down their tremors. Jeremy hums against Ryan’s lips contentedly; Ryan _whimpers_. He sounds far more desperate out of the two of them, totally struck with need and fright. Jeremy’s never, not ever in his life, heard him sound this vulnerable before.

He spreads his legs, but Ryan apparently uses the last of his resolve to slip Jeremy’s combat pants off down his thighs instead, and disposes of his own. When he finally slides their bodies together, Jeremy briefly considers that he’s about to collapse in on himself. He drags Ryan down by the hair, twisting fingers into his crown and biting down on the man’s bottom lip, and it’s still not enough, they’re still like shaken up soda bottles, all full of pressure.

So he presses up, in a way that’s not experimental, but instinctive. God help him, it erases any trepidation he’d felt before.

Even Ryan seems braver than usual - or at least _bolder_.

“Jeremy,” he breathes, voice cracking slightly. He inhales sharply against their lips; Jeremy can’t breathe, no matter how hard he draws in air. Ryan’s vest is practically torn off. With the new expanse of skin available to him, he wastes no time exploring. The softness at his partner’s lower back comes first. The central dip of his spine, acting as a magnet for sweat, is next, and the last stop are Ryan’s broad shoulder blades, which basically invite Jeremy’s hands to spread over them, satiating the want for touch.

There’s boxers in the way. It barely matters. They’re both easily as hard as the other, and he doesn't even register that this is the effect of the broken sample bottle, not anymore. Jeremy's too busy thinking with a sharply one-track mind. He and Ryan are rutting together hard, and every movement sends white-hot jolts coursing through his hipbones.

Every time Ryan grinds down, it makes his toes twitch. Jeremy runs his hands down the vastness of Ry’s back, to his ass, and grabs it to create more pressure.

Ah, that’s _such_ a good sound he makes. It sounds like pain, but if they’re still on the same level, then that moan is anything but.

Jeremy misses the contact between their chests when he leans back, but forgets it fairly quickly when Ryan forces his knees together, and yanks his boxers off. “ _Fuck_ ,” he rasps, running the back of his hands over his face to clear the moisture. His lips are swollen. Ryan’s taken off his own underwear and his cock is positively _leaking_.

Instead of returning to where he’d lain across Jeremy’s body, he stays on his knees, looking tall and far more domineering than Jeremy’s used to. It’s something about the eyes. His own are probably the same; too big, letting in too much light and lust. Ryan steadies himself with one hand on Jeremy’s spread knees, and runs his other down the opposite thigh, wrapping his fingers firmly around the base of Jeremy’s dick.

He practically convulses. Struck by the urge to copy, he reaches between them to take Ryan’s cock in his own grasp; not only do the man’s fingernails start digging into his knee, but the sight of Ryan curling in on himself, shoulders tense and hips bucking, sears itself into the back of his brain (hopefully _forever_ ).

“Please, please,” someone’s saying – it’s not Ryan, it’s _him_ , because nothing’s happening to him, there’s no moving hands, and he wants to weep from the intensity of it all. “Ryan, Ry, _please_ \--”

When they both start jerking off together it’s so much better. Transcendent, in fact. Jeremy’s skin is burning, his eyes are rolling back into his skull, oh, _god,_ it’s too much and not enough to release the pressure all at once.

Ryan roars his way through the initial wave of his own orgasm. Jeremy can’t tell what sets him off. It’s either the low, guttural shout Ryan emits loudly, which, by the sounds of it, strips the man’s throat _raw_ \- or the sensation of cum abruptly hitting his chest. Whichever it is, he swiftly follows. Ryan’s firearm-calloused hands are stroking him quickly and roughly. There’s a burning in his eyes, and shit, he has to pull both hands back to clutch at the sheets when he cums too, his leg muscles clenching and twitching with the intensity of it. There’s some tight, coiled potentiality that’s been released. It’s synthetic. It’s something scarily pleasant.

The burning heat in his skull turns out to be tears. It feels so good he might as well have lost his damn mind, and maybe that’s the purpose of the sample they’d collected, to make people go mad with overwhelming relief. Jeremy cries his way through Ryan jerking him off, and doesn’t immediately stop when he starts to come down from the high, his skin cooling and the cum on his ribs and stomach pooling.

With the favour returned, Ryan slumps back against the pillows. His chest is heaving.

Jeremy grabs whoever’s vest is closest to him, wipes off the cum, and drags himself over to join his partner.

It’s suddenly very cold.

He throws the covers over both of them, and sniffles.

“All… okay?” pants Ryan.

Jeremy makes him lift up, so that he can slip arms around his neck and cuddle Ryan from behind properly. “Think so,” he whispers, and wipes his eyes. “That was... That was _not_ natural.”

“ _Ohmygod_ I'm so wiped out,” Ryan wheezes. “Too _much_.”

“Yeah. I never want to do that _ever_ again.”

“Oh,” says Ryan, with sadness creeping into his tone, “you don't?”

Jeremy regrets his firmness instantly. “Ah, no, I mean,” he says, “let’s do that again, if you want to, and... I don't know. Set our own pace?”

Ryan nods breathlessly.

Excitement – of the romantic kind, rather than the explicit kind – pierces through his exhaustion. God, he feels light-headed.

“You made me cry,” he says, somewhat in awe.

“Wasn’t all me,” Ryan mutters, but presses his face into Jeremy’s shoulder like he’s trying to apologise through the breathlessness.

“Bet all of you could make me scream, next time.”

“Next time? Might be a while,” he points out. “I think I used, like… A month’s worth of jerking off there.”

“Come on,” Jeremy teases, “we could get that down to three weeks. Endless possibilities.”

“Can we sleep right now? My brain isn’t working.”

“Yeah, ‘course, Ry.”

They adjust themselves so that Jeremy’s the big spoon. It’s true; Jeremy’s brain isn’t working either. Otherwise he’d be asking questions like, _what does this mean for us?_

Or, _should we be sleeping in the same room as the fumes?_

Or, most pressingly, _do we tell HQ about this?_

But the unnatural post-orgasmic haze has settled over the pair of them like a veil, obscuring the world just enough to make everything unclear.

(He does get the feeling, however, that the persistent problem of ‘one bed per mission’ isn’t gonna be a problem anymore.)

Jeremy settles for a gentle kiss placed behind Ryan’s ear, and falls asleep in seconds. He doesn’t dream of anything at all.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to nip over to [my tumblr](http://futureboy-ao3.tumblr.com/) \- I'm always up for chatting about Jeremwood, or listening to fic ideas, or talking about AH/RageHappy. ^_^


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